Page 9 of Burdened Bonds
I blink again. The daylight filtering through the window is not bright but enough to make my eyes ache. Outside, the wind sweeps through the meadow and the distant trees moan.
The pain in my gut is intense, an ache throbs dully in my head and my body is stiff with sleep. Have I been sick? Did I go to bed with a raging headache and stomach and only just wake up?
Gingerly, I pull the bedsheets back,searching my bedroom for Pip, about to call out for my aunt, to tell her I feel a little better now, when a voice fills the room.
“Little rabbit?”
I jolt.
It’s a man’s voice – a deep, rough voice. It’s not my aunt’s.
For a moment, panic swoops through my body and then in the next, everything comes flooding back to me – my aunt, the man in black, the council, the academy, the attack, my fated mates.
“Little rabbit?” the voice says, much more quietly this time, with more trepidation and a hand rests hesitantly on my shoulder.
I flinch and dive from the bed, spinning to face the man sitting behind me and scurrying across the room until I hit the wall, my arms outstretched in front of me, ready for an attack.
Renzo Barone – the hitman sent by Marcus Lowsky – Marcus Lowsky who tried to kill me.
The man examines me, his mismatched eyes racing all over my face.
“Looks like she’s feeling better, little man.”
Little man? My eyes drop to the side of the bed, where Pip is up on his trotters, examining me too.
“Pip,” I yelp, “Pip get over here now!” I wave at him frantically, wanting him as far away from that psycho as it’s possible to be.
Pip grunts and ignores my command, peering over his shoulder at Renzo and grunting a second time.
“Yeah, still a bit confused.”
“Confused?” I snap, “what the hell? – where the hell? – what the–”
Renzo raises his arms and I gasp, my magic sparking on my fingertips ready for his assault. But he simply smirks,lifting his hands right above his head and stretching, the vertebrae in his backbone cracking, and his dark t-shirt lifting, flashing me a strip of his toned abdomen, covered in a crisscross of inks.
That familiar hook in my abdomen tugs in his direction and I scowl. Familiar it may be, but it feels different too, all mixed up and confused. My bond is buzzing with energy and tension, straining. But it’s also sore and painful. I scowl harder, my eyes dropping to my own stomach, until the thud of feet on the floor has me looking the psychopath’s way again.
He rests his elbows on his knees and his chin on his balled hands.
“What do you remember?” he asks patiently, undeterred by the way my fingertips are hissing with magic.
I peer at my pig, who’s lowered himself back down to the ground and waits for my answer.
What the hell is going on?
My head pounds and spins and I’m dazed and confused.
This is the man who tried to kill me. Yet, Pip doesn’t seem to care and, if I’m honest, the man’s presence doesn’t scare me like it once did. A memory flickers through my mind, of the woods at the academy, of my knife. Then another of Marcus Lowsky writhing on the floor, and this man, Renzo Barone, sweeping me away.
My brow wrinkles. I shake my head.
“I remember … the academy. I remember the ball. I remember …” I shake my head. Is that right? “Dragons?”
“Yeah.” Renzo grins widely. “Dragons,” he says, his voice full of awe.
I lift my hand to my head, touching my forehead, trying to reassemble all the loose memories in my head, order them into something that makes sense.
“We were attacked. I was fighting … fighting with … Tristan.” My bond sparks. Renzo sits up straight. I strain to remember and then I gasp, my hands flying to my mouth. Pain spirals through my body, and I sink to my knees moaning. “Tristan … Tristan … he’s … oh god, no … he’s …”
